


Hunger of the Pine

by mageconsul



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: F/F, F/M, Post-Endgame, endgame spoilers, it's exactly what you think it is, you know what the death is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2015-10-06
Packaged: 2018-04-25 02:58:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4944091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mageconsul/pseuds/mageconsul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don’t want to bother you,” Severa says.</p><p>The reply is terse, so Lucina stands, heart suddenly in her throat. She closes the distance between them with measured steps, tries to calm the way her fingers tremble before she reaches over and impulsively cups Severa’s hand in her own. It is smaller than she expects, so she holds it close, drawing it nearer with something akin to reverence.</p><p>“Stay with me,” she says. “Please.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunger of the Pine

**Author's Note:**

> Title derived from Alt-J's song of the same name, which was definitely an inspiration while writing this.

_“May we meet again in another life…”_

Her mother fades without effort. She strikes the final blow, then tosses one careless smile encased in shadows over her shoulder like a prayer, and vanishes; dissolves as thought she’d never been there at all. There is no trace of her, nothing save for the burning in Lucina’s heart, the hollow fire she now knows will never cease. Words have died halfway through her throat, each one stacked upon the other, choking her. She can hardly breathe anymore, can hardly see through the film of her own tears. 

“Robin,” her father calls.

His voice is hoarse. Lucina does nothing as he takes a step, then another, the Exalted Blade glimmering and glorious in his hand. He finds nothing but at least he is alive, her mother’s broken promise at his feet. The thought does not comfort Lucina, and the relief she feels that they are safe rings dull and awful against the backdrop of her grief.  Her future is gone, but this one is safe, and she has lost her mother twice. It is over. There is nothing more for her to do. 

The Fell Dragon roars beneath their feet. Lucina stumbles as it veers in midair. She only barely avoids Morgan, who grabs her free arm to steady her. A look at his robes sends her gaze skittering across his face, never focusing too closely, but aware enough to register his expression. Anguish flares hot inside her so Lucina doesn’t look at him, fixates instead on their surroundings. They are losing altitude quickly, dropping sharply over Ylissean territory, and it occurs to her that they have no safe way down. Anxiety flickers within her. 

“Father!” she cries, stepping out of Morgan’s reach, but as Chrom turns, the dragon scales beneath him seem to erupt, a dark steam enclosing him from view. She dashes forward, free hand outstretched, but grasps only air.

A moment later the dragon twists. Lucina loses her footing, pitches sideways, unable to correct herself. She lands with a clatter, only narrowly avoiding cutting herself on Falchion’s blade. Her free hand scrabbles to find purchase but there is nothing to hold onto, only scales which slice her fingers and keep her boots from finding traction. She slides downward, ever closer to the dragon’s heaving wings, to the drop which will surely end her life, and she thinks of her father, and of her mother, and of that smile.

Had it all been for nothing?

“Lucina!” Severa shouts, and there is a sudden tug at her throat, the unfurling of her cape. 

Lucina grabs hold of it before it escapes her, latches on just as her feet clear the dragon’s side. Pain lances through her arm as it supports her, and she swings, involuntarily kicking her legs out into the empty space beneath her feet. Her breath leaves her in little gasps. Falchion continues to dangle from her fingers, strangled in her iron grip. The Fell Dragon’s wings heave up and down, up and down, beside her. 

“Stop thrashing!”

Lucina looks up towards Severa, who sounds strange and breathless. She can barely make out the strained figure above her, can only see the girl’s soot-stained arm and long strands of her red hair. It is difficult to obey, but she forces herself to remain as still as possible, tries to blink away the tears that well up at the effort. It feels like her arm has popped out of its socket and it is all that she can do to keep from screaming.

“Hang on, okay?” Severa says. “The others are coming!  I just need-”

She is cut off by a howl of black steam. It swirls around them until it blots out the sun, and then they are in the dark, connected to each other by a thread. The fear is thick between them, augmented by the way the dragon’s body writhes. Lucina slams against its heaving side, growing increasingly nauseous every time her arm is jarred. Her grip on the cape slips until she is barely holding on, but Falchion is her birthright, the one thing she cannot leave behind. She will not drop it.

“Let me go!” she shouts, because she is afraid. “Severa, let me go!”

For a few breathless seconds, Severa doesn’t respond. Then, “Are you crazy?  No!  Just hang on!”

“There’s no point,” she says desperately. “You can’t pull me up without help!”

“Don’t tell me what I can’t do!” Severa snaps, but Lucina knows that she is terrified. 

Something bursts inside her, ruptures like a wound improperly cared for. There is no salve for this, no second chance to save herself or this girl, an old friend: loyal and smart and brave; fierce like a rabid dog. There is no helping their lost future; it is gone and there is no getting it back, and there is no power in the world capable of bringing back the dead. But they helped save this world, and perhaps that is enough. Perhaps this is all that she was meant to do.

“Have faith,” a voice tells her.

Lucina’s heart stutters in her chest. A name grows garbled on her tongue, hooked along the lining of her throat. A light has begun to pierce the darkness. It lifts the veil from her eyes until it is blinding, encompassing all she cannot see – everything she is, everything she was – until there is nothing left of her to salvage.

**

When Severa’s eyes open, she and Lucina are on solid ground, the cape held between them like a promise. They stand near the edge of a cliff overlooking scarred plains, the last remaining dregs of the Fell Dragon dissipating in swirls of black smoke down below. They are not alone; friends and family surround them, caught in various states of disorientation, all save for Chrom, who stands at the very edge with his shoulders hunched and Falchion held limply in hand. His grief is palpable and all-embracing, and Severa turns away. Her legs are trembling and her shoulder aches, and she tries to remind herself that it’s okay to let go, to release Lucina’s cape, because they are no longer in danger of falling. Somehow, she can’t bring herself to move.

She watches as Lucina blinks unsteadily, sees how she glances at the sun and then at their surroundings, and feels her own throat swell hot and painful at the sight of her tears. It’s almost as though Lucina doesn’t notice them, can’t feel them pave trails through blood and ash. She looks small again, the girl she used to be before she took up Chrom’s mantle and began to bear the weight of all their futures. When she tries to take a step she pitches forward, and Severa reflexively darts toward her, supports them both for long enough that their descent is no longer sudden or likely to be painful. They find themselves kneeling together, face to face, and for the briefest moment Severa breathes Lucina’s air, nose brushing nose, the cape pressed between them.

Severa turns her face away, tries not to think about the color of Lucina’s eyes or the shape of her brand. Whatever excess of tenderness she feels, she smothers; does so with the same procedural efficiency of someone used to circumventing inconveniences. She shuffles backward, fumbling until she can hold Lucina at arm’s length, keeping her steady. Only then does she deem it safe enough to look at her again.

“Hey,” Severa says, with a gentleness she is not known for.

Lucina blinks and it’s as though she’s woken from a distant dream. Severa feels her shudder, watches as her expression twists with something as soft and disempowering as sadness. Helplessness wells up within her, sharp and unpleasant. She wishes, desperately, for Robin’s return, for her kindness, her intelligence, her guidance. But more than anything else, she wishes for the return of Lucina’s mother, for the return of the moments she’d glimpsed around camp, the impossibly ugly dresses and Robin’s wry smiles and the brightness to be found in Lucina’s eyes: her childlike eagerness, the reemergence of an innocence Severa had not seen in her for a long time.

“Lucina,” she implores. “Look at me.”

Lucina lifts her head and meets Severa’s gaze. Her mouth is trembling, wet from her tears, but she still attempts a smile, as though compelled to put on a brave face.

“We did it,” Lucina says, her voice tremulous.

Severa finds herself beset by a resounding ache, the sort that emanates from somewhere in the chest, creeping into every crevice, intensifying with every passing moment. 

“You’re an idiot,” she says, and, letting go of the cape, embraces her.

**

They are slow to make camp that night. By the time the sun sets on the horizon, there are many still without a place to rest. Morale is low despite their decisive victory, one which they know will save future generations the pain of Grima’s eventual return. That they had managed to achieve this with only a single loss is a miracle to be infinitely grateful for. But Robin’s loss is keenly felt, and there is not a single person in her inner circle who is not struggling to move forward. They are all, in their own ways, coping with that grief.

Lucina understands this, yet somehow wishes she were alone. Her friends surround her, surround Morgan, and many of them have expressed, with varying degrees of fervor, the ardent belief that her mother will return. It might take years, Brady says, but she’ll return. Inigo trips over himself to agree.  He is effusive as he does so, and his smile is warm and genuine, but she can tell just by looking at his eyes that he is miserable. Owain, as well, though his antics are as boisterous as ever.

Eventually, the topic turns toward the future, and Lucina feels her stomach drop uncomfortably. This is the one subject she has wished to avoid since she first truly began to hope for a better ending to her father’s story. She clamps her mouth shut reflexively, her tongue heavy with fears she has never voiced. It is Noire who tentatively poses the question, looking for all the world as though she would rather be thinking of something else.

“What comes next?” she asks, voice small.

Owain and Inigo’s chuckles awkwardly trail off, until they are all looking at each other in silence. Some, like Lucina, have understood Noire’s meaning immediately, while others seem to have missed the implication entirely. That, or they don’t seem to want to understand, though Lucina believes that they must, somewhere inside them.

She watches as Yarne frowns, as though struggling to piece together a particularly complex puzzle. “What do you mean?”

Severa, who has for all this time set herself apart from the others, scoffs from her seat near the tent’s flap. She turns her head and hides her mouth against her palm almost petulantly, elbow resting on the table she’s reclined against. She’s been quiet the entire evening, has not spoken a word since a rather gruff interaction with a healer earlier that day, and seems intent on remaining silent now. Her legs, however, are restless. She has been crossing and uncrossing them all evening, and Lucina catches her at it once more, though she doesn’t point it out. Stirred by something that isn’t quite impatience, she briefly wishes that Severa would say something, however acerbic, or at least that she would come sit closer.

She’s not sure why, but she knows with a sudden certainty that either of these actions would soothe the disquiet that has begun to grow inside her.

“It’s what it sounds like,” Nah replies patiently. She, Yarne, and Noire are huddled together at the base of a few crates, bathed in the warm glow of flickering candlelight. “We’ve stopped Grima, so, where do we go from here?” She looks at each of them in turn, and when they say nothing, she raises her eyebrows, as though the thought does not disturb her even after having spent so long in each other’s company. “Do we go our separate ways?”

The corners of Brady’s mouth turn downward. “You can’t be serious,” he says, as though the very thought were unthinkable.

“Why not?” Laurent asks, a solitary shadow near the back of the group, face partially obscured by the brim of his hat. “It’s only logical to ask that question. Most of us have yet to be born here, that is true, but that we will be born is now almost a certainty. Are we to watch ourselves grow into different people? Though it might be interesting to examine how we develop in an environment not torn apart by war, it might also end up causing additional complications.”

“That’s…strange to think about,” Inigo opines, as he gingerly rubs his shoulder. “I almost don’t want to think of it.”

Owain grasps Inigo’s arm as though to offer him some semblance of comfort. The sight somehow feels private, so Lucina looks away, her gaze skimming across the others to land directly on Severa’s eyes. She inhales sharply, something like surprise weaving its way between her ribs. The feeling blooms warm beneath her skin in the second that it takes Severa to tear herself away, expression twisting into a directionless scowl. And perhaps it is a trick of the light, but her skin looks flushed even from a distance.    

Something in Lucina’s stomach twists curiously at the sight, but it is not at all unpleasant. She doesn’t know what it means, but it is strangely comforting, and she wants – to close that distance, wants to – she doesn’t know what she wants, really, but she knows what she hasn’t been able to stop thinking of.

“They wouldn’t understand,” Morgan says, abruptly.

He stands as though perturbed, and when Lucina looks him over, she finds his knuckles have turned white from how tightly he has begun to grip his tome. It is this, more than anything else, that makes her feel uneasy, and she shifts in her seat as a consequence. Even Severa seems unexpectedly on edge, prior embarrassment set aside; her dark eyes are cautiously observant, dancing over every detail.

“Who wouldn’t understand?” Kjelle asks. She is the only one  out of them all who has maintained a tight grip on her weapon despite the reassurance that they are no longer in much danger. “Our parents, or…ourselves?”

“Ourselves,” Morgan says quietly. 

“What is there to understand?” Cynthia says with a forced laugh. She stands, too, and leans into Morgan’s side with the easy sort of familiarity that belies the true nature of their relationship. She is trying to make him smile, but for once, he is not receptive, too weighed down to do much more than twine their fingers together. “It’s easy!” she continues. “We’re just…them…from the future…” 

“From a future that never came to pass,” Gerome says, with a sense of finality. Lucina braces herself; he is the executioner come to swing his axe down upon their heads. “These are not our lives. These are not our parents. These are not our futures. We should leave.”

“What?”  Yarne says, and Cynthia echoes him. “No. No. I mean. We just got everything back.”

“And what happens when the children are old enough to ask questions? What then? How confusing will it be for them? For others? What will people think when we remain at our parents’ sides?” Gerome whirls on Lucina, his gaze sharp enough to cut. With every word, he wounds her, excising her thoughts with the same precision he employs in battle. “What happens when you remain at your father’s side and rumors begin to swirl around you? Will you be that strange woman, hovering about the Exalt just as his wife has gone missing?  Imagine how crude, regardless of how baseless-”

Gerome trails off abruptly. His mouth clamps shut a second later, and Lucina looks away, blinking rapidly, but she can tell from the silence that descends upon them all that they have already seen her tears. Her hand trembling, she reaches up to wipe her eyes against the back of her glove and tries to compose herself.

She wants to say something, anything, but the words won’t come.

“That’s it,” Severa snaps. Lucina looks up in time to watch her stand from her solitary chair and storm to the center of their circle, placing herself by Lucina’s knee as though ordained to the spot at the hand of some greater force. The support is more than gratifying. “We’re done with this conversation.”

“It’s a discussion we need to have,” Nah points out.

Severa takes a breath, her hands clenching into fists. She bristles so visibly that Noire flinches, and Lucina reaches up, impulsively cupping a hand around her wrist in an effort to inhibit her reaction. Severa glances sideways at her, as though surprised, her mouth a stagnant, angry curl.

“But not tonight,” Kjelle says quickly, before Severa can lose her temper. “In fact, I think it’s best if we leave the matter be for a few days.”

“I’m only saying that avoiding this problem won’t make it go away.”

“No one’s saying that,” Brady interjects, with enough heat to give the others pause.

A tense silence envelops them, and the less confrontational members of their group begin to fidget, nervously looking anywhere but at each other. 

“Look,” Owain ventures after a moment. “We’re all tired and today…today wasn’t the best.” He seems earnest as he says, “I think we all just need a moment. Maybe we should…go to bed. Rest. Take some time to think about things by ourselves.”

Inigo attempts a jovial smile, but it grows wobbly as he glimpses Lucina’s expression. “I agree,” he says. “I think…this is too much to take in at once.”

As though following his gaze, Nah turns to look at Lucina, and her expression becomes remorseful. 

“Okay,” she says quietly, before standing.

Ears drooping, Yarne follows as she makes her way to the exit. With a little wave, he ducks past the flap after her. Noire walks closely behind him, looking just as crestfallen, and as though deeply regretting having spoken at all.

“Goodnight,” she whispers, with a sadness that sinks deep into Lucina’s bones. 

One by one the others follow, until only Cynthia, Morgan, and Severa remain inside with her. Severa fixes them with a glare, but says nothing. She remains a solitary sentry at Lucina’s side, and for that, Lucina is impossibly grateful. She doesn’t know what she has done to deserve such a friend, but she aches to recognize such loyalty.

“Morgan,” she calls, before her brother can step outside.

He and Cynthia hesitate by the tent flap, their hands entwined. Both gaze at her curiously, waiting for what she might say.

“Will you be all right?” she asks quietly. 

For a few moments, Morgan says nothing, and Lucina grows pained at the sight of him. He is the same height that he was that morning, yet somehow he stands taller. His eyes are the same color as their mother’s, and his face – he looks like their father, like he could wield Falchion, could carry the weight of Lucina’s burden along with his own. The moment passes and he is little again, wearing robes that are still a size too big for him.

“Yes,” he finally says. “Don’t worry about me. I know mother will return. And I have you, and I have father, and...” He looks to the side, at Cynthia, who shoots him a fragile grin. “We have all our friends.”

His gaze lingers meaningfully on Severa as he says this, and Lucina feels herself flush in response. She is abruptly overcome by an unbearable sense of embarrassment, which only grows worse when Severa refuses to look at her.

“Okay,” she says, somewhat unsteadily. “You know where I am, if you need me.”

He begins to turn away, but Cynthia stops him, her hand careful as it comes to rest upon his chest. 

“If I can do anything,” she says, more seriously than usual, “Let me know, okay?” Her eyes dart sideways, flicking across Severa and then back again, quick as lightning. “Both of you.”

Before either of them can reply, she is gone, Morgan along with her. A strange sort of silence echoes between them, broken by the sounds of a bustling camp and the echoes of some subdued celebration. Severa reacts by grunting irritably, shifting from one foot to the other in order to release tension. Finally, she walks a few paces away, and pointedly avoids Lucina’s questioning gaze.

“I’ll leave now, too, I guess,” she mutters darkly. “Now that those idiots have gone.”

“You don’t have to,” Lucina says.

She doesn’t know why she says it, only that once it leaves her mouth, it becomes apparent to her that the thought of being left truly alone is utterly intolerable. And in truth, being alone with Severa has always been unlike being alone with other people. It is comforting, somehow, and safe in its togetherness. It is being alone without the loneliness, and without running the risk of feeling stifled. It is the warmth of summer bearing down on a green bay, and being caressed by the breeze that usually accompanies the water. It is answering the echo of a cry nearly swallowed whole by a world that is too loud, and drawing strength from that connection.

“I don’t want to bother you,” Severa says.

The reply is terse, so Lucina stands, heart suddenly in her throat. She closes the distance between them with measured steps, tries to calm the way her fingers tremble before she reaches over and impulsively cups Severa’s hand in her own. It is smaller than she expects, so she holds it close, drawing it nearer with something akin to reverence.

“Stay with me,” she says. “Please.”

Severa looks at her, eyes doe-like in the candlelight. Her face, still somewhat soot-stained, hosts an expression of such profound and uncharacteristic vulnerability that it shocks them both into quiescence. 

_“If I die, the world will keep on spinning,” Severa told her once, months before any of them had ever even thought to step into the past. “It’s not the same with you. If anything were to happen to you, the world would end. So stop being an idiot, and let us protect you.”_

_That’s not true, she’d wanted to say. I care. To lose you now, after losing so many others, would be unendurable._

“Lucina,” Severa whispers, and the sound of it draws her from the memory.

The images dissipate like wisps of smoke, but the feelings linger. Lucina cannot help but press closer, enticed by something she now understands, but cannot name. She kisses her and feels the relief of it burst inside her, spreading through her like a balm meant to soothe scorched skin. She kisses her like she was meant to, like the truth of it was written long before her birth, as ancient and unmovable as fate. Then her movements stutter, grow clumsy as she realizes what she’s done, what action she has taken without thinking. 

She pulls back, her eyes fluttering open, anxiety welling in her chest. Her nose brushes against Severa’s as she moves away, and she nearly trips over her own feet at the sensation. Severa’s shoulders hitch, but she doesn’t make a sound.

“I’m sorry,” Lucina says, her voice small.

Her tongue feels heavy in her mouth. All of the things she wanted to say have evaporated in the face of her own audacity. All this time, she has made it a point to avoid unnecessary recklessness. No risks that could jeopardize their mission, nothing that could place any of them in worthless danger. But Severa’s mouth had trembled, and something in Lucina had adjusted at the sight. The ardency of her affections had never seemed so clear.

Severa opens her mouth, then closes it. Before she can say anything, there comes a sound like the crunching of gravel underfoot. Another moment, and Lucina’s father steps through the flap of the tent, his mouth downturned and his eyes serious.

“May I speak with you?” he asks, and though he looks at both of them, it is clear whom he is addressing. 

Her heart sinking, Lucina watches as Severa nods jerkily, executing a sort of awkward half bow before sharply stepping away from them.

“Your Grace,” she says to Chrom, her tone as cold as ice.

Then, saying nothing more, Severa turns away and slips outside without a backward glance.

**

The march home is long and strenuous. It takes them several days of trudging through the Ylissean countryside, slowed by constant stops to aid those in need along the way, before the capital grows visible on the horizon. It is not her home – that fact in undeniable – but Severa finds that it is a beautiful sight regardless. She dreams of warm baths, of soft beds, of shops nearing belligerence through the intensity of their opulence. That she has no money to spend is irrelevant. Perhaps if she is surrounded by these small comforts, she will be able to remember how to pass the nights without waking.

It helps to see her mother every day, though it sometimes still feels surreal. On those days she grows withdrawn, snapping at anyone who comes too close, with few exceptions. Always her parents coax her back, Cordelia leading the charge with a patience to rival a priest’s. She is tender with Severa at all times, and perhaps is so the most when the latter least deserves it. Severa isn’t sure whether she hates or loves it.

It is late in the afternoon when they arrive at the city walls, welcomed by the clamor of celebration. People pour out of their homes, shops, taverns, until the streets are rivers overflowed; the Shepherds are encircled within minutes of their arrival, and for the first time since the day of the Grima’s final defeat, their success has been instilled with a sense of permanence. It is wonderful, it is exhilarating – Severa is nearly overcome by the force of her relief. She watches a group of small children as they laugh and run, rejoicing in the defeat of an evil they cannot hope to understand. How many of those children, she wonders distantly, were already dead at the time of her future?

A hand takes her own, drawing her back into the present. She turns in surprise and finds Noire facing the crowd and struggling to hold back her tears. She is shaking, so Severa threads their fingers together, her heart beating hard enough that she fears it will climb straight out of her throat.

“We did it,” she calls, loud enough for Noire to hear above the shouting of the crowd. “We actually did it.”

“Yes, we did!” Brady whoops from somewhere behind them, and suddenly he’s there, his long arms flung around both their shoulders, his laughter relieved and comforting and warm, and Severa can’t help the beginnings of her smile. Owain comes, Cynthia and Inigo at his heels, and then the six of them are pressed together in a circle, spinning until their laughter gives way to tears. For years they had been caught in an unending nightmare, and now – it’s over. 

Somewhere in the middle of that realization, Severa spots Lucina and Morgan through the crowd. They have thrown their arms around each other, Lucina pressing her cheek to the crown of Morgan’s head. They are both crying, keeping each other afloat amidst this tide of strangers. The sight feels too private, so Severa looks away, shoves aside her sadness and her longing in order to search for another source of comfort. Through her tears, she spots her parents some distance away, watching over her.

Embarrassed as she will be about it later, Severa runs straight into her mother’s arms and prays that she will never again be forced to let go.

**

The days after their arrival prove equally hectic. The Shepherds are needed all around the Halidom, and even abroad, with requests for aid doubling with every passing day. Chrom sends out groups to organize relief efforts, but even then, it will take some time before Ylisse can truly claim to be on its way to recovery. In this time, Sumia and Cordelia renew their efforts to restore the Pegasus Knights to their former glory. Cynthia leaps at the chance to aid them, throwing herself into training new recruits with a dedication Severa has rarely seen before. For the first time, she allows herself to contemplate what her future might be like in this land, and thinks that joining her mother in the Knights might not be such a terrible thing.

It’s funny; a few months ago she would have found the idea unthinkable, even laughable. Now, however, the thought of it is comforting. No matter where she goes after this, she knows she will always have a place among her family, should she need it.

As such, she falls into the habit of tending to the stables, feeding horses and pegasi alike, brushing down their coats, mucking their stalls. She hates the dirt under her nails and within the creases of her boots, but taking care of things other than herself is calming, perhaps because it is so familiar. Animals don’t talk to her, anyway, not like Owain and Inigo do whenever she joins them while they’re practicing their swordcraft. Animals don’t ask stupid questions, or give her looks, or flirt with her incessantly. And they also give her an excuse to spend much of her time alone, away from the prying eyes of the castle.

To her great and everlasting aggravation, many of the servants wonder who she is and why she seems to be so highly regarded by the Shepherds. They know she has no past to speak of, not anymore, and she doubts very much that any of them would understand an explanation, were it given to them. It would be terribly unpleasant, after all, to learn what fate could have befallen them had their princess not returned to save them all. This, however, does not make abiding their mindless rumors any easier, and Severa chafes under their probing gazes.

It is the same for all the other children, but is especially arduous for Morgan and Lucina, who continue to be subjected to intense scrutiny and suspicion. Severa has heard several of Chrom’s retainers whisper terrible things in the wake of Robin’s disappearance, things that make her skin prickle and her hackles rise. She stalks past these people every time, glaring with a fury meant to ensure they understand that she has caught them. She says nothing because disciplining cretins is not her job, it’s Frederick’s, and she doubts very much that he would appreciate the sort of help she is inclined to offer.

To make up for this, she remains outside for prolonged periods, busying herself with tasks meant to better the Halidom and attempting to look viciously unfriendly at all times. It works, for the most part, except for when it doesn’t. Some people, her friends chief among them, refuse to be intimidated, and many of them crowd her at night if they cannot find her during the day. Noire seeks her out just to lend her books, and Brady sits on her bed without asking, and Kjelle will sometimes wander over, glistening with exertion, and demand that she show up to spar the next day. Sometimes she will sit with all of them at dinner, and will make a point of avoiding Lucina’s searching gaze.

It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does, or be so difficult to set that night aside. She has always understood her place at Lucina’s side, has never let herself hope for more than what she knew could be. One confused kiss spawned by their grief has not changed that. She hates herself for having been so obvious, for having lingered in the kiss too long, for not having stopped it at all. She will not jeopardize their relationship any further.

It is incredibly difficult to do this, however, since Lucina seems intent on trying to catch her alone. To apologize, probably, but Severa truly doesn’t need an apology. Really, it’s difficult enough to know it. She doesn’t need to be told what she has known for a very long time.

**

Her luck, as has always been the case, seems to run out rather quickly.

One day, very late in the evening, she finds herself huffing as she jogs to the room to which she has temporarily been assigned. She has been sent to retrieve a book, one which Noire lent her several days ago yet somehow now urgently needs returned. In truth, that should have been enough to alert her, but she does not think to be suspicious until Lucina ambushes her, stepping out from behind the shadows of a decorative suit of armor to approach her.

Severa falters in her steps, stopping just short of her bedroom door. She casts about for someone, anyone else to serve as a buffer for what is likely to develop into a very painful conversation, but finds no one. She feels helpless as Lucina draws closer, and tries to maintain a neutral expression.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Lucina says, her grip gentle around Severa’s elbow.

There’s really no denying it. In the days since that night, Severa has done nearly everything possible to avoid being caught alone with her. She just hadn’t realized that she’d also needed to be wary of their friends.

“That’s not true,” she says anyway. She tries to keep her tone cool, indifferent, but her heart is already fumbling for an excuse to get away. Perhaps if she opens the door to her bedroom, she can step inside before Lucina can do anything about it. “I’ve just been busy. We all have.”

Lucina regards her silently, eyes searching Severa for some deeper truth. She is so beautiful that it is painful to look at her, and Severa turns her face away, unwilling to let her find it. The last thing she wants is to feel humiliated. They really don’t need to have this conversation.

“Did you know,” Lucina says tiredly, releasing the grip around Severa’s elbow to let her hand hang limply at her side, “that your eyes get all big and earnest when you lie?”

Severa feels her breath hitch in her throat. She remembers, very clearly, how Robin had told her the same thing only weeks before her death. It makes her flush, anger, embarrassment, and affection welling up inside her in equal measure.

“What’s the point of having this conversation?” she asks, more viciously than she might have otherwise. “Why are you forcing this?”

To her surprise, when she looks back at her, Lucina’s expression seems pained. Severa doesn’t understand it. What more can be said on the subject that wasn’t made perfectly clear the very second Lucina apologized for kissing her? Future Exalts do not love girls like her. Severa has known that for a very long time.

“I thought…” Lucina begins awkwardly, and it is like her mouth is full of cotton; she cannot get the words out.

With a nervous sort of impatience, Severa says, “You thought what?”

At this, Lucina takes a breath and offers her a tremulous smile.

“I care for you,” she admits, with great difficulty.

Her mouth stumbles over the words, clumsy here where she is graceful everywhere else. Severa cannot even swallow, she is so transfixed by this sudden flush of unholy and demented adoration. She struggles to tamp it down, to stifle it before it grows too large to control, but it is too late. Hope has already set her alight, against her better judgment.

“You what?”

Disbelief colors her voice so potently that Lucina winces. Still she forges on, brave as the Exalt’s blood must be, and nervously meets Severa’s eyes.

“A long time ago,” she says, sounding breathless in her haste to get the words out, “You told me that your death wouldn’t make a difference. I said nothing at the time, though I desperately wanted to argue. I wanted to tell you that you were important, that nothing we achieved would have been possible without your contributions; that you, and Kjelle, and Nah, and all the others were the only things that kept me from despair while Grima hounded us at every turn.”

Lucina steps closer with an earnest gentleness, her expression beseeching understanding. Helplessly, Severa lets her.

“Even then, I cared for you,” Lucina says softly. “You must believe me.”

“Lucina,” Severa says, every inch of her inelegant heart dissenting against the mind that tells her _no, please, don’t_. She is so scared that this won’t be what she wants it to be, so she tells herself that it can’t be: don’t hope, don’t hope – _future Exalts do not love girls like her_. “What are you saying?”

Another step, and Lucina is as close as she was that night in the tent. She is bolder now than she was before, her gaze unwavering and unapologetic. Whatever she has seen in Severa’s eyes, whatever she has heard in her voice, has changed her.

“I’d like to kiss you again,” Lucina says. “If-if you would let me.”

Heat blossoms in Severa’s stomach and spreads through her entire body. She feels locked in place, consumed by a compelling mixture of exhilaration and a profound sense of embarrassment. Lucina, too, seems suddenly frozen, her cheeks flushed as though appalled at her own candor. It is altogether too endearing, and Severa cannot stop looking at the shape of her mouth.

“W-well,” she begins, then stops herself. Lucina is gazing at her with a singular attentiveness, as though anything Severa might have to say is sure to be of unquestionable significance. It is a look that grants her the strength to be braver than she really feels. “What are you waiting for, then?”

“Oh,” Lucina stutters. “I…”

She doesn’t move, so Severa tamps down her nervousness and steps closer, trembling hands reaching to curl around the fabric of Lucina’s tunic. The proximity is thrilling, has her heart sprinting laps against her rib cage. Then, abruptly, she hesitates, doubt germinating, infecting her every movement. She tenses, looks up and searches Lucina’s face for any falseness, any trickery or indication that this was a mistake, she doesn’t mean it; she is simply seeking solace. But then Lucina’s eyes slide shut, and her face angles closer, and Severa cannot help the way she gasps into the sweetness of that mouth.

When they part, it takes some time for her to catch her breath. Lucina’s eyes are half-lidded, her mouth kiss-swollen. She is impossibly beautiful and improbably brave, an awkward mess of a girl who is too serious and too plagued by an abhorrent taste in clothes to be truly fashionable, and Severa is certain she will never love anyone else the way she loves Lucina.

She steps away, tries to clear her head for long enough to find the words she knows she needs to say. They come more easily than she expects them to, and once she starts, she can hardly bring herself to stop.

“I love you,” she says, roughly. “I’ve loved you for so long that I don’t remember a time when I didn’t. But you were our future Exalt, the princess of Ylisse, and, gods, what a cliché! Of course I would begin to fancy the daughter of the man my mother was once in love with! The world was already ending. Why wouldn’t I torture myself with the idea of a relationship that couldn’t come to pass?” Disdain poisons her tone and makes her grimace. Perhaps too honestly, she says, “I hated the idea of being in love with you. I wanted nothing to do with it.”

For a brief moment, Lucina seems genuinely distressed. She is shy again, awkward and uncertain even as she tentatively drapes her hand along Severa’s own, bridging the distance between them.

“Do you still feel that way?” she asks.

Severa flushes hotly at the touch, but can’t help how viciously she rolls her eyes. She threads their fingers together and, as though for good measure, mutters, “…Obviously not. Don’t be foolish.”

Lucina smiles, small and quiet. “I’m glad you’re here,” she says.

The sincerity in her voice is both profoundly embarrassing and preternaturally agreeable.

“…I’m glad you’re here, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, to be honest, this took me what felt like a thousand years to finish. I haven't posted anything since 2010, or so...so it's been a while. Maybe that's why it felt like pulling teeth? But anyway, hello! I hope you enjoyed this, and if you have any comments, please do share them! I would love constructive criticism.


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